Caged
by Bennybunny
Summary: The war is over. Unlike in fairytales, good did not win. Just a cell like any other. A caged Ginny wanting to set her captor Draco free. Complete!
1. Default Chapter

Caged  
  
by: Isa  
  
PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: They all belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Summary: The war is over. Unlike in fairytales, good did not win. Just a cell like any other. A caged Ginny wanting to set her captor Draco free.  
  
*  
  
A.N.- To SnapeJuice who wanted me to write it.  
  
Taunting Ave:  
  
I've reposted this chapter just in the hope you will really read the story a few more times. I was particularly touched by all of your reviews but, alas, lacking an e-mail to which to send you my thoughts I'll have to post them here. : ) Thank you so, so much for all your kind words. Feel free to always contact me at isavidigal@hotmail.com.  
  
*  
  
Fear has a taste of its own. A mix of mould and despair, so thick that I can feel it with my taste buds. I can feel it all around me in the cold dungeon walls, in the unlevelled floor. So oppressing that all I can do is allow it to engulf me, as it tightens my chest, forcing the air out of my lungs.  
  
My captors don't need to touch me. I move on my own accord. Their dark presence behind me is surreal. It seems that, if I were to turn around and face them, they would disappear. Like persistent shadows in the corner of my eye. Light impressions marked in my retina by the summer sun.  
  
But there is no sun here.  
  
I look ahead and there he is. Holding the cell door open. He grabs it forcefully; as if he fears that if he lets go it will close on its own with a loud metal clang.  
  
I enter the cell while he still holds the door open for me. He doesn't seem to notice. He does it like he would if we were on the outside world, he does it because that's the gentlemanly thing to do. Giving the surroundings, his gesture, brought by a lifetime of good manners instilled into him, seems so out of place that I almost laugh. But that is probably the hysteria, as the gravity of my situation settles down on me.  
  
He gently closes the door, its soft click barely registering in my ears. If I was harbouring any doubts that he held any compassion for me they are lost when I look into his eyes. Cold and grey. He just didn't slam the door closed because that is not in his nature. It's how he distances himself from us commoners. And I find that his detached care is far more hurtful than violent gloating.  
  
I take a moment to look at him. Really look at him.  
  
Beautiful.   
  
He does not belong here.   
  
The others, in their crudeness, do. Even I, dirty and ragged as I am now, don't seem as out of place as he does.  
  
Tall, thin, elegant.  
  
Clothes that are just too expensive, clothes that suit him just too well.  
  
I find myself wishing to shelter him from this place, this reality.   
  
That has always been my mistake. Wanting to save those that do not want salvation.  
  
He's looking at me but not looking at me at all. He's looking through me. Searching for something else.   
  
For a fleeting moment he seems open. No more that mask of propriety.  
  
A strand of silver hair falls to his eyes. He wrinkles his nose in distaste, like a little boy.   
  
That seems to bring him out of his reverie.  
  
Long, elegant fingers brush the hair back in place.  
  
His eyes harden as his vision focuses again on me.  
  
He turns and leaves.  
  
But I don't want him to go. 


	2. Sly

Caged 2  
  
by: Isa  
  
PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise either belongs to J.K. Rowling or to Massive Attack.  
  
A.N.- Thanks to all my reviewers. I wasn't sure about going on with this story. Your wonderful reviews made up my mind.   
Special thanks to SnapeJuice for her invaluable help and advice.  
  
Summary: The war is over. Unlike in fairytales, good did not win. Just a cell like any other. A caged Ginny wanting to set her captor Draco free.  
  
*  
  
"I try to believe what I feel these days   
It makes life much easier for me  
It's hard to decide what is real these days  
When things look so dizzy to me."  
  
Sly- Massive Attack  
  
*  
  
I wake up.   
The greyness of the cell slowly comes to focus.  
  
Time has passed. I don't know how long it has been since I came to this cell. Since he turned and left.   
The smell of sand dust fills my senses whenever I think of time.  
  
Food comes. But not at regular intervals that would allow me to mark the length in-between meals.  
  
*  
  
I wake up. It seems I fell asleep again. The greyness of the cell slowly comes to focus.  
  
I lay on my usual spot; in the middle of the cell, on the floor covered by the sheets I took from the small cot in the corner.  
I spend my time between sleep and wakefulness.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
  
When I sleep I can hear the voices. Their voices. Telling me to run. That we lost. That there's no hope left. Run.  
Images come to mind.   
Battle images all have the same subdued colours. A vortex of greys and browns. Sad greens and melancholy blues all mixing together with the fine dust that rises from the ground and falls from crumbling buildings. Red is the only burst of colour here and there. But unlike in paintings, red does not make the characters lively.  
  
I open my eyes. I yawn. The greyness comes to focus.  
  
"SAVE YOURSELF!"   
I think it was George who said it. But under the blood and the grime I can't be sure. I'm not sure of anything now.   
I can't remember their faces. They are all a blur of white skin, freckles and ginger hair. I try to recall distinct features and I fail.  
I roll in frustration and the sheets crumple, leaving my right side on the cold floor.  
  
When I sleep I hear their voices. So I lay on the cold floor.  
Deep sleep does not come when I feel the dungeon's cold seeping into my bones. Cramping my muscles.  
I don't smooth the sheets back to their original position. The cold almost burns me and the pain makes the images disappear. The voices fall silent.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.   
The greyness of the cell slowly comes to focus.  
  
I watch the shadows play across the ceiling, the walls, the bars, the floor. Engulfing me in darkness. Engulfing me in unbearable light.  
  
Silence.  
  
Has the world outside ceased to exist?  
Wouldn't there be some noise?  
The faint buzz that can be heard wherever there are people living their day-to-day lives, an unnoticed mimicry of the mindless lives of insects.  
  
Silence.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
  
I can't remember my face.  
Do I still have a face?   
Panic takes hold of me as I urgently trace the contours of my face with my hands.  
It's there.  
I almost sigh in relief until I realize I don't need it anymore. I don't need a face.  
There is no one to see it. What is its purpose now?  
  
*  
  
I wake up.   
I thought I heard the ping of metal on metal.  
I'm imagining things again.  
  
Ping.  
  
I turn my head towards the sound. I turn so quickly that I feel the play of muscles and straining tendons in my neck.  
  
It's a cufflink touching one of the metal bars.  
  
The thought that a cufflink is unlikely to be hovering in the air forces me to widen my field of vision.  
  
Didn't these actions come naturally before?  
It seems that when you have time to think you have to remind yourself to blink, order your ribcage to expand and your lungs to fill.  
  
My vision widens more and more to encompass the whole figure.  
  
It's him.  
  
I startle. My heels kick the floor to push me back, away, but my arms fail and I fall on my elbows.  
  
"I'm just looking at you. Nothing else."  
  
I would never have thought those words could be anything if not reassuring.  
But he manages to make them empty of significance.   
It's the tired tone on his voice, like he's merely reciting lines from a paper that is not being held by his hands.   
It's the bored look on his face, like he had been staring at me for some time and was displeased with what he saw.  
  
"It's not fear. It's surprise."  
I don't know why I need to assure him he did nothing wrong.  
  
I'm doing it again.  
Assuming too much. Assuming it would worry him how his actions make me feel.  
When he also doesn't care.  
  
He shrugs.  
  
He is studying me. Trying to find something. I don't know what.  
He searches and searches and finally gives up.  
Shaking his head in frustration.  
Silver hair shining and somehow making itself noticeable amidst the greyness that surrounds us.  
  
"I can't remember my face."  
I don't know why I tell him. I feel like crying.  
  
He doesn't look surprised.   
Doesn't smirk.   
Doesn't tell me that my face is the least of my concerns right now.  
  
"The rest of your family is dead."  
He says it like he's making a remark about the time. Sand dust fills my nostrils. Fills my lungs. I order my ribcage to expand.  
  
"I killed a few of your brothers myself."  
  
His hand casually caresses one of the bars.  
I imagine those well manicured fingers tracing my skin.  
  
"I can't remember my face." I repeat.  
  
He moves away from the bars.  
His steel eyes are filled with disgust.  
  
"You have brown eyes."  
He tells me as if it were a crime.  
I touch my closed eyelids trying to feel the brownness with my fingertips.  
  
"There's nothing more common than brown eyes."  
Disbelief is in his voice. He seems to be struggling with the idea of why anyone would have brown eyes. Like they were a choice I made because I didn't have enough sense to choose wisely. Choose another colour.  
  
I don't answer him. I feel too guilty to answer him.   
I feel like apologising. Apologising for having brown eyes when he is near me.  
  
"I will come back." And he turns away to leave.  
  
I sit up abruptly.  
"Why?"  
  
He turns to face me. Surprised that brown eyes dare to question him, looking at him filled with curiosity.  
  
He smiles. Not a smirk. A real smile.  
"Toy-like people make me boy-like."  
  
And then he leaves.  
  
But I don't want him to go. 


	3. Dissolved Girl

Caged 3  
  
by: Isa  
  
PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise either belongs to J.K. Rowling or to Massive Attack.  
  
A.N.- Thank you so much to all my reviewers! You guys are great! I'm glad you like it. If some of you have any doubts about the story, feel free to e-mail me.   
Special thanks to SnapeJuice. This story is better because of you.  
  
*  
  
"'Cause it feels like I've been  
I've been here before  
You are not my saviour  
But I still don't go  
Feels like something  
That I've done before  
I could fake it  
But I still want more."  
  
Dissolved Girl - Massive Attack  
  
*  
  
Bright light.  
A white summer dress.  
Little fingers playing with the cherry-shaped buttons in the front.  
  
"Charlie! Charlie! Why is this funny looking bottle filled with sand?"  
  
The scent of grass.   
Chirping birds.   
Sunlight kissing bare skin.  
  
"Ginny, go put the hourglass on its place. You're too little; you'll drop it."  
  
Child's eyes squinting against the brightness of the afternoon.  
  
"But why does it have sand?"  
  
The buzz of insects in the air.  
  
"Sand means the time that's passed."  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
Blinding darkness surrounds me.  
My hand moves to shield my eyes from the dark.  
The sheets underneath me all crumpled.  
The cold brought me back. The one time I didn't want to return.  
  
Sand dust fills my senses.  
I grab the sheets, wrap them around myself and try to go back to sleep.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
  
Uneven stone beneath my fingers.  
Will he come to me soon?  
How long has it been?  
He said he'd return.  
Unguarded expressions and slipping masks.  
Where is he?  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
Greyness surrounds me.  
I search it for a glimpse of silver. A knowing smirk.  
I find none.  
  
Shame.  
Such a shame.  
I think I kind of lost myself again.  
Why is he not here?  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
Blood thumping in my ears.  
The one thing disrupting the silence.  
Stop.  
Stop beating.  
  
I close my eyes. Rub them with my fists. Hard.  
Stars. So many stars. Just there, behind my eyelids.  
A whole galaxy inside a tiny cell.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
Shadows move slowly across the walls.  
It's cold.  
It hurts to breathe. Like my nose is filled with salty water.  
Seawater.  
For a fleeting moment the blueness is overwhelming; the smell of ocean fills the cell.  
It quickly escapes through the bars.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
Should I tell him about the ocean's escape when he comes?  
If he comes.  
If ever he was here.  
Was he here?  
  
He wasn't.  
I imagined it all.  
He never was here.  
  
I hear fairies dancing across the cold stone floor.  
Light, crystalline sounds.  
Sudden and pure.  
I look down at them.  
I just find teardrops.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
I'm choking.  
I can't breathe.  
A ray of light cuts through the greyness.  
Wherever it touches it reveals dust.  
Not sand dust.  
Dust.  
  
All around me.  
Tiny particles, floating around me. Surrounding me. Oppressing me. Choking me.  
  
I can't breathe.  
  
They dance in front of my eyes, following the rhythm of music I can't hear.  
Suddenly swirling to reach me.  
  
Golden.  
  
Filling me without permission.  
I don't order my lungs to fill.  
He never was here.  
  
*  
  
He enters.  
Expensive shoes barely making a sound.  
Elegant clothes that do not rustle.  
Steel eyes searching.  
  
She sleeps.  
  
He opens his mouth to wake her.  
How dare she?  
Brown eyes avoiding him.  
Brown eyes not noticing he's here.  
  
She sleeps.  
  
His lips close without having made a sound.  
He watches. Trying to understand.   
He watches.  
The sleep. The naked face.  
Open hands. Curled fingers.  
  
He lowers himself, crouching beside her.  
Not touching her. Almost. Not touching her.  
He watches.  
  
Searching.  
The closed eyes. The brownness underneath.  
The ginger hair. The freckled skin.  
The beauty.  
Hoi polloi like.  
  
His hand moves without his consent.  
Almost touches the flames of her hair.  
Defiant fingertips dare to brush her freckled cheekbone.  
  
Too shocked, he lets them remain there.  
The smoothness beneath them.  
  
"It's impossible!" He hisses.  
Disbelieving. Surprised. Disgusted.  
  
Silent fury storming out of the cell.  
The click of the door and nothing else.  
  
She sleeps. 


	4. Whisper it

Caged 4  
  
by: Isa  
  
PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise either belongs to J.K. Rowling or to Goldfrapp.  
  
A.N.- Thank you so much to all my reviewers.   
Special thanks to fae. Your review was really sweet. Don't worry, I'll most definitely go on.   
I'm sorry to tell you, Adela H, that I do not know the books you mentioned. But if you liked them and compared my writing to them, I can only feel happy for such praise.  
And, of course, thank you to SnapeJuice, the mistress of angst, for her help.  
  
*  
  
"I fool myself  
To sleep and dream  
Nobody's here  
No one but me  
So cool  
You're hardly there  
Why can't this  
Be killing you?"  
  
Lovely Head - Goldfrapp  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
  
It's dark.  
Nothing moves.   
Or maybe everything is spinning and dancing around me and I just can't see it.  
  
So dark.  
  
Inky blackness all around me.  
I dip my finger in it and start tracing unknown words on my skin.  
Words that haven't been invented yet.  
Written across my collarbones, my shoulders, my neck, my breasts.  
  
Not even a foreign sound to them.  
Words that describe my longing.   
For him.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
  
Still dark.  
I feel the darkness smudged across my body.  
Unreadable traces of ink upon my skin.  
Fingers still sticky with darkness.  
  
He was never here.  
Never.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
  
I'm so scared.  
Will there be darkness forever?  
It feels like everything is alive around me.  
  
Panic rises.  
Cold fingers clutching my neck.  
A heavy weight on my chest keeps me from breathing.  
  
I can feel the walls breathing.  
The floor pulsing beneath my fingers.  
Whispers through the bars reach my ears and tell me of fear.  
  
The floor continues to thump rhythmically.  
Heartbeats pulsing.   
Dark, dark blood flowing beneath my body.  
Beneath the cold floor.  
  
Soundless gasps resounding in darkness.  
Wounded sobs echoing through the walls.  
  
*  
  
He is here.  
Looking at me.  
Disgust in his steel eyes.  
  
He is here!  
  
I smile.  
"Let me save you."  
  
He doesn't seem surprised.  
  
I grab his hand and pull him down to the floor with me.  
He looks at my hand holding his like it's something he needs to wash off.  
  
I shouldn't do this.  
Shouldn't taint him. Shouldn't touch him.  
  
He just kneels there. Unmoving.  
Not wanting my touch, but allowing me to go on.  
  
I cup his cheeks with my ink smudged hands.  
  
"I killed them." He reminds me.  
I smile again.  
  
I hold him.  
It's like holding a rag doll. An inanimate thing I press against myself.  
  
"Say my name," I sob. "Whisper it."  
  
He smells of expensive and rare spices. A mix of clean and luxury.  
And skin. Warm, warm skin.  
  
"They begged me to spare you."  
He laughs. Clearly amused.  
  
I smile too. I push the heavy robes off his broad shoulders.  
  
"But I don't intend to."  
He still laughs.  
I smile back and move to kiss him.  
He turns his face from me and the kiss lands on his jaw.  
His perfect jaw.  
  
I kiss my way up to his cheekbone.  
His long eyelashes fluttering against my skin like a caught butterfly.  
I unbutton his clothes.  
The scent of warm skin makes me dizzy.  
The smoothness of him.  
  
I forget who I am.  
I forget.  
With the weight of you, dear.  
I forget.  
  
"I don't intend to."  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
  
Nobody's here.  
No one but me.  
  
He was never here.  
  
I yell and cry in frustration.  
Until I'm hoarse.  
Until I can only taste my tears.  
Despair thick in my throat.  
  
He was never here.  
  
It was all a dream.  
  
*  
  
He enters.  
  
They told him she had yelled and cried.  
He is sorry he missed it.  
  
She sleeps.  
Dried tears upon her face.  
  
He doesn't get closer.  
Not since his fingers touched her horribly freckled cheekbone.  
  
Never again.  
  
She sleeps.  
  
"Wake up."  
  
He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to.  
  
She stirs.  
A tangle of warm limbs and sheets.  
Sleepy eyes stare at him. Waiting for him to vanish now that the dreams have ended.  
  
"Now, tell me about Potter." 


	5. Wise Up

Caged 5  
  
by: Isa  
  
PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise either belongs to J.K. Rowling or to Aimee Mann.  
  
A.N.- Thank you so much to all my reviewers. Sorry for taking so long to update. I'll try to post once a week from now on. I usually post on Saturdays, just so your warned. Special thanks, as usual, to SnapeJuice.  
*  
  
"It's not  
What you thought  
When you first began it  
You got  
What you want  
Now you can hardly stand it, though  
By now you know  
It's not going to stop  
It's not going to stop  
It's not going to stop  
'Till you wise up  
So just give up."  
  
Wise Up - Aimee Mann  
  
*  
  
"What about Potter?"   
  
He smirks. Perfectly shaped lips twisting mockingly.  
  
I'm cold. My fingertips are blue.  
I start rubbing my arms.  
  
He notices.  
He starts to take off his coat but thinks better of it.  
Was he going to give it to me?  
  
For just a second he seems mad at himself.  
  
"Don't toy with my patience, Weasley. Give me Potter's location. Now."  
  
When he's impatient he pushes his hair away from his eyes.  
It falls over them again.  
He gets even more impatient.  
  
I'm so fascinated watching his silver strands shadowing his steel eyes that I don't even remember to answer him.  
Loneliness makes us forget that there is a time for everything.  
  
"Well?" He rushes me.  
  
I'm suddenly upset.  
I don't like this Draco.  
He's just about to disappear like the other ones, and I don't like him.  
Why would I be nice to him, if I don't like him?  
  
Figures. Only I would come up with an imaginary lover that I don't like.  
Even in my fantasies I fail.  
  
"Why should I?"  
  
He doesn't look surprised, this Draco.  
  
He rolls his beautiful, cold eyes.  
  
I ignore it and go on. The sooner I get rid of this Draco, the sooner I can imagine a different one.  
  
"What would I gain by telling you where Harry is?"  
  
It's the good thing about talking to figments of my imagination. I can say things a normal Ginny isn't supposed to say. Like haggle for Harry's life.  
  
This Draco looks surpised.  
I frown.  
My Dracos never get surprised.  
They always know.  
  
When I look up I notice he is bending over me.  
There's something in his eyes.  
Something I haven't seen in a long time.  
Hope.  
  
"Well, well, it seems little Weasley is not as good as I thought."  
  
I've had this fantasy before.  
  
"If you don't tell me where Potter is I will kill you piece by piece."  
  
He doesn't smile when he says it.  
He looks distracted.  
My Dracos always smile at me when they say they're going to kill me.  
  
Could this be the real Draco?  
  
"And if I tell you, will you set me free?"  
  
He smiles now.  
But not the happy smile I always imagine.  
A dark, twisted smile.  
  
I was wrong.  
I think I like this one better.  
  
"No. But I'll kill you quickly."  
  
"And painlessly?"  
  
He pauses to consider it.  
  
I really like this one.  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
"Perhaps what? If I'm a good girl?"  
  
His smile vanishes completely.  
  
He suddenly his so close to me I can feel his cold breath on my cheek.  
It smells like mints.  
  
"Don't ever make the mistake of imagining I feel the least bit attracted for a disgusting little piece of filth like you." He whispers in my ear.  
  
I smile.  
  
Just the words…  
  
I always like him when he's at his cruellest.  
  
He looks at me like I'm mad.  
Maybe I am.  
  
"Where's Potter?"  
Cold. So sure of yourself.  
The best one yet.  
  
He moves as if to slap me, then his hand stops mid-air.  
He looks disgusted.  
  
Not at himself.  
  
At me.  
  
He can't even bear the idea of touching me.   
Even to strike me.  
He's perfect.  
The best of all.  
  
He turns around to leave.  
  
Stops at the door.  
  
"I will be coming back everyday until you give me Potter's location."  
  
"You will come back if I will you to."  
  
He looks at me.  
Uncomprehending.  
He finally gives up.  
Shaking his head.  
  
He leaves.  
Craddling his hand.  
As if the mere intention of touching me had marred his perfect skin. 


	6. Creep

Caged 6  
  
by: Isa  
  
PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise either belongs to J.K. Rowling or to Radiohead.  
  
A.N.- Thank you so much to all my reviewers. Special thanks to citrus scented, better late than never. ;)  
As always, thanks to the wonderful SnapeJuice, the official Mistress of Angst.  
  
*  
  
"When you were here before  
Couldn't look you in the eye  
You're just like an angel  
Your skin makes me cry  
You float like a feather  
In a beautiful world  
And I wish I was special  
You're so fucking special  
But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.  
What the hell am I doing here?  
I don't belong here."  
  
Creep - Radiohead  
  
*  
  
The greyness of the cell slowly comes to focus around me.  
  
The pulse awakened me.  
I can hear it everywhere around me.  
  
The dark blood flowing underneath once again.  
Hands reaching out for me, stretching the stone walls like rubber.  
And the pulse.  
Like a heartbeat. All around me. It's all I can hear.  
  
The stone sobs and weeps.  
I can taste my fear.  
Feel the cold sweat, sleek on my back.  
  
My surroundings shift, almost as if I'm underwater.  
But the ocean did not come back.  
At least not in its blueness.  
  
The floor undulates beneath me.  
Following the rhythm of the blood that flows within it.  
Gasps resound within the cell.  
They are not my own.  
  
So dark.  
Is it night?  
Do the sun and moon still go on with their journey?  
Even now, that the world has ended?  
  
He comes to me.  
I move so he can lie on the sheets too.  
  
"Why do you do this to yourself?"  
Oh. This is one of the good ones.  
Sweet and caring Draco, if I'm not mistaken.  
I don't have much patience for this one.  
He always tells the truth.  
  
"Why shouldn't I?" I indulge him.  
"You're hurting yourself." He traces my eyelids with perfectly shaped fingers.  
  
I laugh.  
  
"I don't care if it hurts. I want to be perfect."  
I turn sideways so that I'm facing him.  
"For you."  
  
His eyes shine at this.  
So kind, this Draco is.  
I wonder why I made him.  
  
He starts caressing me.  
His hand dips into the curve of my waist only to rise to my hip.  
I can give in to this Draco.  
  
"Whatever makes you happy," I whisper, close to his neck. "Whatever you want."  
"I want you." His voice sounds uncharacteristically deep, between hungry kisses to my collarbone and below.  
"I wish I was special. You're so very special," I confess.  
  
The door opens and I turn abruptly.  
  
He's standing there.  
Impeccable dark grey suit. Matching shirt and tie.  
Cufflinks shining even in the dim light.  
Not a hair out of place.  
  
Eyes smouldering like molten steel.  
Eyes of a hunter and I'm the prey.  
  
"What were you saying, Weasley?"  
  
I smile at him, languid. "You're so very special."  
  
He frowns distastefully.  
"It would be better if you pathetic Gryffindors did not make attempts at sarcasm."  
  
Oh! Even better!  
My favourite one is back!  
  
His frown deepens at my satisfied smile.  
"Have you reconsidered?"  
  
"I've already told you. I don't care if it hurts."  
  
He stares at me intently. Seems to be searching for any sign that I'm joking.  
  
"I haven't even mentioned torture," he smirks. "But if you're in that much of a hurry."  
  
I twist on the sheets.  
Cat-like seductive.  
  
His eyes widen. He steps back. Moves to lean against the bars but thinks better of it.  
He wouldn't want to dirty his pristine clothes.  
  
He places his beautiful hands in his pockets.  
  
"I caught one of your little friends today," he informs me casually.  
Two perfectly normal people making small talk.  
"It was... Oh, Merlin, what was his name?" He pauses, clearly making an effort to remember. "I just killed him, for Heaven's sake!" He seems upset.  
  
"Describe him," I incite.  
"He was a Mudblood."  
I giggle. "That's not much of a description."  
"He was the one always with the camera. You know," he smirks maliciously, "the one that competed with you for Potter's affections."  
"Ah! Colin!" I exclaim delighted.  
  
He nods. "That's the one."  
Companionable silence.  
Each of us remembers past moments from when we were younger. Feels like ages ago.  
  
He nods again. "Yes, well, I killed him."  
"Indeed?" I question indulgently.  
"Yes, yes," he quickly acknowledges. "Didn't tell me a thing, though. Did he know where Potter was?"  
"Of course."  
He shakes his head, amused. "How Gryffindor!" He's clearly enjoying this. "To die for his friends!"  
  
I nod my agreement.  
  
He removes his hands from his pockets. Seems to remember why he is here.  
  
"I'll give you tonight. Tomorrow you either tell me where Potter is or torture begins."  
  
He makes his way out the door, not even looking back.  
  
Tears fill my eyes.  
  
I don't want him to go. 


	7. When can I see you

Caged 7  
  
by: Isa  
  
PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise either belongs to J.K. Rowling or to Babyface.  
  
A.N.- Thank you so much to all my reviewers. Evenstar, I'm glad you like it! I hope you update "A Meeting Under the Stars" soon.  
As always, thanks to The Mistress of Angst, SnapeJuice.  
  
*  
  
"When can I see you again  
When can my heart beat again  
When can I see you again  
And when can I breathe once again  
And when can I see you again"  
  
When can I see you - Babyface  
  
*  
  
"You know I love you!" He told me between desperate kisses. "You know I'll always love you, no matter what!"  
Dishevelled black hair framing his bright green eyes.  
Dust gluing to his sweaty forehead, his scar standing out against his frighteningly pale skin.  
  
And I believed him.  
I believe him then.  
  
Even when he left me.  
Even when he ran after giving me another quick kiss.  
The Death Eater's loud footsteps drowned by the furious beats of my heart.  
  
Even then.  
Because he was our last hope.  
Because he above all had to be kept safe.  
Because that was Harry Potter telling plain old Ginny that he loved her.  
  
I believed him.  
Then.  
  
I turn, my shoulder aching from the cold of the dungeon floor.  
I smooth the sheets underneath me.  
  
I hate thinking of him, now.  
  
For some reason he keeps my Dracos from coming to me.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
The greyness of the cell slowly comes to focus.  
  
The bars' shadows on the floor move slowly, marking the minutes of a time I forgot how it passes.  
Shadow bars I can change with a wave of my hands.  
The real bars are still motionless.  
Cold metal. Trapping me.   
  
I don't like thinking of Harry.  
He makes me realize this.  
  
*  
  
I wake up.  
He is here.  
But which one is he?  
  
I give him a tentative smile.   
My Draco smiles back, half lowering his head, a mischievous look on his face.  
Oh, it's playful Draco!  
  
"Get up, Ginny!"  
He motions for me to rise.   
A restless little boy.  
  
"I don't want to, Draco."  
  
He frowns. Seemingly unable to understand why.  
  
I suddenly remember.  
"Draco, tell me, can you see the blood flowing underneath the floor?"  
  
He shrugs and rolls his eyes.  
Then he makes a great show of patting his dark burgundy suit, nearly crumpling the expensive material.  
"Oh, dear!" He exclaims dramatically. "I seem to have forgotten my x-ray goggles!"  
  
I giggle.  
I never regret having this Draco around.  
  
I unsuccessfully try to stifle my giggles.  
"No, silly! You can feel it, even if you don't see it. Try!"  
  
Draco starts to pretend he's losing his balance.  
"The blood! Underneath the floor! Make it stop!" He throws himself to where I'm laying, laughing at him.  
He laughs with me.  
  
We're still laughing when I hear the cell door open.  
The Draco beside me vanishes as the other one makes his entrance.  
  
Oh, this Draco looks upset.  
  
"Hello, Draco!"  
  
He looks even more upset, if such thing is possible.  
  
"Weasley."   
  
I giggle at him.  
"Came to torture me?"  
  
He scowls.  
"Will you tell me where Potter is or not?"  
  
I sit up, still amused.  
I'll tell him.  
After all, why shoudn't I?  
  
He looks uncomfortable with my sudden happiness.  
He nervously runs his hand through his hair.  
Dishevelled silver hair framing his cold grey eyes.  
I'm suddenly scared.  
  
I back away from him.  
To the dark corner in the cell.  
  
He seems puzzled at my change of attitude.  
But in a way he seems relieved.  
  
"Where is Potter?" Confident again.  
  
I shake my head.  
I will not answer.  
  
He sighs in frustration.  
  
For the first time ever, I notice he has dark circles under his eyes.  
  
"Will you torture me now?"  
My voice sounds like it belongs to a little girl and I hate myself for that.  
  
It's his turn to shake his head.  
He smirks.  
  
"No."  
  
"Why?"  
  
He lets himself slide to the dungeon floor.  
Not seeming to care for his clothes.  
He leans his head to the bars, pensive.  
  
"Apparently that idiot mudblood's death was not very well accepted. They think I could have managed to make him give me Potter's location. They say I was to hasty to kill him."  
  
"They? The other Death Eaters?"  
  
He quickly stands up.  
Stormy eyes staring at me.  
  
"I am not a Death Eater!" He shouts.  
  
I recoil in fear.  
This pleases him.  
  
"I simply made an alliance," he smirks. "You have to know which side to choose and, more importantly, never to make a permanent choice."  
  
I'm too frightened to speak.  
  
"So I will not torture you. Unfortunately, I'll have to keep coming here until you give me Potter's location."   
  
He opens the cell door and leaves without looking back.  
  
I heard what he said, but I swear that it's not making sense.  
  
Playful Draco reappears and coaches me out of the corner.  
  
He laughs.  
"He's lying, you know?" He asks me. "He's not a Death Eater simply because none of us would have that ugly thing tainting our beautifully flawless skin!" He rolls up his sleeve to show me his milky white skin.  
He keeps laughing but I'm not laughing with him.  
  
I move to the bars.  
My fingers wrap themselves around the cold curves.  
  
I don't want him to go. 


	8. Stupid Girl

Caged 8  
  
by: Isa  
  
PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise either belongs to J.K. Rowling or to Garbage.  
  
A.N.- Thank you so much to all my reviewers.   
Ace of Spades, I'm glad you like it. Actually you're right, I'm leaving hints all through the story.   
JLF, I wrote Harry like that, not only because I don't like him very much, but also because he is very important to the plot.   
Evenstar, I showed a bit of Draco in this one, but I used him mostly to explain Ginny's views.   
Thank you so, so much to SnapeJuice, The Mistress of Angst, for her invaluable help.  
  
*  
  
"Steal me, deal me, anyway you heal me  
Maim me, tame me, you can never change me  
Love me, like me, come ahead and fight me  
Please me, tease me, go ahead and leave me  
Bend me, break me, anyway you need me  
As long as I want you baby it's alright."  
  
I Think I'm Paranoid - Garbage  
  
*  
  
When I awaken, he is already here.  
Sitting on the cold floor, leaning against the bars.  
He looks tired.  
The dark circles under his eyes are even more pronounced.  
  
He is wearing dark blue.  
Normally it would suit him, but now it only makes him seem more defeated.  
  
He is crying.  
  
I go to him.  
Cradle him against me.  
  
"What is it, Draco?"  
  
He doesn't move to embrace me but he doesn't push me away either.  
  
"Tell me what's the matter."  
  
"Like father, like son," he mumbles against my throat.  
  
I rock him gently, back and forth.  
My hands running through his silky hair.  
  
"The strangest of the strange," he says with empty eyes.  
"The coldest of the cool," he goes on, as if needing to add to it.  
"The lamest of the lame," he whispers.  
  
I kiss his forehead.  
The skin cool beneath my lips.  
  
He talks again. "Going on, choking on my smile. The deadest of the dead."  
I hum a little lullaby.  
"Fakest of the fake," he goes on. "A million lies to tell myself, it's all I ever had."  
  
He falls asleep in my arms.  
  
*  
  
He sleeps for a long time.  
  
It feels so good to hold him.  
Like we were meant to be so close.  
Like he belongs in my arms.  
  
I take the time to study him.  
  
Pale eyelashes. So long they rest on top of his cheekbones.  
Pale skin. So pale it's almost translucent.  
Pale mouth. So pale I want to redden it up with kisses.  
  
Not a single freckle.  
I don't know how he does it. Not a single one.  
  
Proud straight nose.  
Prominent cheekbones.  
Pointed chin.  
  
And fine silver hair caressing his face, sticking to drying tears.  
  
Long fingers with perfectly manicured nails.  
  
The expensive suit that seems to wrinkle just from touching me.  
  
The lack of sleep in his features.  
  
The scent of warm skin, so close.  
Too close.  
Too warm.  
He seems a bit feverish.  
  
A delicate, almost feminine neck.  
  
His face prickling my own neck.  
The first time I've seen him with stubble.  
  
He stirs.  
  
His eyes flutter for a moment before opening.  
Unfocused.  
Uncomprehending.  
  
"You're wrong, you know?" he asks me.  
"Wrong?" Just to indulge him. Anything to hear his voice.  
"You hide inside your head."  
  
I stiffen.  
I force myself to relax.  
  
He doesn't seem to notice.  
"What drives you on will drive you mad."  
  
I don't like where this is going.  
  
He's not the one that's supposed to tell me the truth.  
  
"It only brings you more pain," he tells me.  
"You learn to love the pain you feel," I answer.  
  
"You should try to save yourself instead."  
I smile. "I'm saving you."  
  
He's unconcerned.  
  
I press on.  
"I know what's good for you."  
  
He starts to move away.  
My arms tighten around him.  
  
"You can touch me if you want," I tell him.  
  
He pushes me away.  
  
He seems disgusted with himself.  
  
He stares at me.  
Hurt clear in his eyes.  
The hate just as clear.  
  
I cry.  
  
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," I plead.  
"I want to see you happy," I sob. "I want to see you smile."  
  
He shakes his head.  
"You stupid girl, I swear I'll never understand."  
  
He leaves.  
  
I run to the bars, my hands sliding along them. Wet with tears.  
  
I don't want him to go. 


	9. Mar Cruel

Caged 9

by: Isa

PG-13

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise either belongs to J.K. Rowling or to Dulce Pontes.

A.N.- Thank you so, so much to all my reviewers! 

Special thanks to SnapeJuice for always helping me with this story.

*

"Além do mar cruel                                          

E o mar bramindo                                         

Diz que eu fui roubar                                         

A luz sem par                                                   

Do teu olhar tão lindo."                                     

  A Canção do Mar - Dulce Pontes                       

*

My hands hang limply by my side.

Did I imagine it all?

No. 

I can't. 

I haven't.

I always understand my Dracos.

The real Draco is not to be understood.

And neither is he mine.

Tears still blur my vision.

Suddenly they swell, filling my eyes and then the whole room.

The ocean is back.

In all its blueness, all its vastness.

I can smell it too.

The stonewalls shimmer with imperceptible waves.

The air is fluid and cool.

Water flows in between my fingers.

And suddenly it shifts.

Stormy hues invade the cell.

Powerful currents throw me to the floor.

The cold stone floor is grainy like sand beneath my palms.

The ocean cries accusingly.

Says it's my entire fault.

That I corrupt him.

I destroy him.

That I steal the beauty in him.

White foam tells me I should be saving him.

Thunderous waves make me curl over myself, protectively.

And then, as sudden as it started, it calmed down.

Peaceful waves lapping the bars lazily.

Is the ocean right?

Am I destroying him?

And the worst of all is that I don't regret it any more.

I don't regret this passion.

This ache for him.

The hurt in his words.

I pause.

His words...

"You stupid girl, I swear I'll never understand."

What doesn't he understand?

The ocean recedes from the cell, slowly flowing through the bars.

The stone is dry again.

And I still can't guess his meaning.

It's hidden in his words.

I can understand it only if he'd let me.

If he hadn't pushed me away.

I could reveal it all with burning caresses. 

The sweetness of tears.

Beneath the crumpled clothes.

The scent of warm skin.

And I would not.

I would not ask for forgiveness when I enjoyed the sin.

And lost myself in him again and again.

We could make it work.

We would let misfortune lie silently behind us.

In the past.

Abandon the sobbing memories.

Never revive the pain.

Enjoy sinning.

Leaving all the others in the past with the pain.

And I would smile, dance, dream and live with him.

Of him.

Saving him from all.

I grip the bars again.

They're still slick from the ocean.

I can only wait that he comes back.

Come and prove that the ocean is wrong.

*

"Beyond the cruel sea

 And the sea roars 

Saying I would steal

The incomparable light

Of your beautiful eyes."

                      Song of the Sea - Dulce Pontes


	10. Road to Redemption

Caged 10

by: Isa

PG-13

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise either belongs to J.K. Rowling or to Everything But The Girl.

A.N.- Thank you so, so much to all my reviewers! 

Duncan - Don't worry. The end is near. Wait! That didn't come out right. Well, you know what I mean.

elen - Sendo portuguesa, não me importo que escrevam as reviews em português. Por isso, vá em frente!

bloodrosesxox - I'm glad you like it! I usually have a song that I can't stop thinking about it ends up influencing the story.

citrus scented -  Well, I see that someone is on to something about this story. :)

Twinkle Toes - I really enjoyed your review. And you're right. Good always wins, depending on the view of the person. As this story is in Ginny's pov, good did not win.

And thank you so much to SnapeJuice. I don't know what I'd do without your help.

*

"If I stand all alone

Will the shadow

Hide the colours of my heart

Blue for the tears, 

Black for the night's fears."

  I Don't Want To Talk About It - Everything But The Girl

*

"Get off the floor, Weasley. We need to talk."

I wake up.

The greyness of the cell takes shape around me.

He's leaning against the bars.

Elegant.

Cold.

Unapproachable.

I get up.

I miss his weight in my arms.

I fight the impulse to run to him.

Bury my nose right where his shoulder meets his neck.

Inhale his clean, warm scent.

"Are you feeling better, now?" I ask him.

"Better?" Studied lack of interest. 

"Last time_"

"Look, Weasley, I don't know what you're talking about. We need to talk about Potter."

Ignoring the warning in his eyes I approach him.

A mix of disgust, boredom and danger crosses his face as I raise my hand to his face.

He almost moves his face away, but in the last second something seems to win:

Curiosity.

I'm caressing his cheek.

How he manages to make this impersonal, I do not know.

Like caressing a marble statue.

"I can tell, by your eyes, that you've probably been crying forever."

He stays silent.

A hunter studying his prey.

The best attack plan is...

I go on.

"You know I want to save you."

I trace his lips.

"Are you not really in my head?"

Still silent.

"You're my road to redemption."

He moves away.

No emotion attached to his action.

"Weasley, where's Potter?"

I shrug.

"Maybe he's dead."

He looks at me. 

Eyes wide.

"It's not as if danger follows him. He follows danger."

He waits for me to go on.

"It was always like that. We'd walk behind while he would run."

He seems to be battling with himself.

He finally makes up his mind.

He reaches for my hands.

I smile up at him.

He does not smile back.

"Weasley. Ginny. Do you really want to save me?"

I nod. 

Happiness tightening my throat.

I couldn't speak even if I wanted to.

Cunningness shines in his eyes.

My mind tells me his eyes shine for me.

"If you told me where Potter is, I could get away."

"Away?"

He nods.

"Away. Leave all this behind."

"Would you leave me too?"

"Probably."

Shouldn't he be lying?

I look at him.

"Probably?" I repeat.

He lets go of my hands. "Where is he?"

After all, why not?

What has Harry done for me?

Leave me behind while telling me he loves me.

"Do you love me?" I eagerly ask.

He doesn't even pause to think.

"No. Never."

After all, why not?


	11. Total Silence

Caged 11

by: Isa

PG-13

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise either belongs to J.K. Rowling or to Sìgur 

Rós.

A.N.- If you haven't seen Sìgur Ròs' videoclip "Good Weather for Airstrikes" I 

strongly suggest you download it NOW. You can find it here 

It's the one of the boy holding the dolls and it's the most beautiful thing 

ever!

Thanks, as usual, to all my reviewers and Bladefanatic the ocean represents 

vastness, freedom, dark secrets hidden in the depths. Viki, it counts as 

romance, you'll see why in the next chapter. There are two chapters to go after 

this one.

And SnapeJuice? You RULE! :)

*

"Dett Niður                                                 "Fall Down

Ég Læt Mig Líða Áfram                             I Slide Myself Forward

Í Gegnum Hausinn                                     Through My Head

Ég Kem Alltaf Niður Á Sama Stað            I always come back to the same place  

Alger Þögn                                                 Total Silence

Ekkert Svar"                                               No Answer"

Viðrar Vel Til Loftárása - Sìgur Ròs        Good Weather For Airstrikes - Sìgur 

Ròs

*

He left as soon as it came out of my lips.

He left.

I'm of no use to him anymore.

This is what I tell myself.

But if he is not here how can I go on?

If I realize for sure that he is not coming back how can I will my imagination 

to make him appear?

If I know with certainty that I will not hold him in my arms again why do I 

still have them?

What's the purpose?

The cell's walls close around me.

Soft gasps abandon the mouldy stone.

Accusations I cannot name.

A crime I committed other than the one that so blatantly faces me.

More than one I condemned. 

More than two.

Perhaps all of us.

But the biggest crime is that I don't care.

I should but I don't.

I struggle to find in me feelings of guilt. 

I find none.

The steel bars hiss accusingly.

Frozen stiff in indignation.

The dim light does not touch me.

Now that I look at it, neither does darkness.

Trapped between shadows.

How long have I been like this?

Maybe it has always been as it is now.

Maybe realizing your condition does not change a thing.

Not even yourself.

He left as soon as I spoke.

The metallic clang of the door still resounding in my ears.

For once not a gentleman. 

For once not beloved.

Or maybe even more than ever.

I think halfway.

Backwards.

I had everything. 

And then my world exploded in piercingly beautiful shards of light.

A world that makes me bleed when I wield to the memories of what was.

When I wander down what were rainbow corridors of past times and now are just 

hallways of silence.

I throw myself against the barriers that separate me from him. 

From going after him.

To stop him.

To incite him to go on.

It makes no difference now.

Because he left.

Pain exists with him.

Loneliness exists with him.

But with him they have a meaning to be.

The ocean has not come back.

Maybe it gave up.

It always escapes.

Gives up on trying to lead me to truths I do not wish to acknowledge.

Realities I don't want to see.

He left.

As soon as he knew.

And it frightens me because before being here I did not seem to know I only 

exist because he exists.

How his name is a blade.

How I scream it until I taste blood.

How I drink it and get drunk with tenderness for him.

I told him where Harry was and he left.

He left right away.

He left.


	12. Heedlessly

Caged 12

Only one more to go.

*

Ser poeta é ser mais alto                                To be poet is to be higher

É ser maior do que os homens                       To be greater than average men

Morder como quem beija                              To bite as if you're kissing 

É ser mendigo e dar como quem seja            To be a beggar and still give

Rei do reino de Aquém e de Além Dor         As if  you're the King of All Pain

É ter de mil desejos o esplendor                    To have the splendour of a thousand desires

E não saber sequer que se deseja                   And not knowing you desire at all

É ter cá dentro um astro que flameja             To have a flaming star inside you

É ter garras e asas de condor                         To have the condor's mighty claw and wing

É ter fome                                                      To be hungry

É ter sede de infinito                                      And thirsty of infinity

Pôr elmo a manhãs de oiro e de cetim           To tame gold and satin mornings

É condensar o mundo num só grito                To condense the whole world in one cry

E é amar-te assim,                                          And it is to love you thus,                              

Perdidamente                                                  Heedlessly

E é seres alma e sangue e vida em mim         And you being soul, blood and life in me

E dizê-lo cantando a toda a gente                   And to sing this for all to hear

Ser Poeta – Florbela Espanca                          To be a poet – Florbela Espanca

*

I wake up and he belongs here.

He has never belonged here.

Here.

Dust, cold.

Unwanted spoils of battle belong here.

I belong here.

Now I look at him and he belongs here too.

And I've never loved him more.

I could easily mistake him for a ghost.

Pale and grey.

Grey suit. Or maybe it just has too much dust on it for me to be sure about it.

He is sitting by the corner.

Knees drawn to him.

Head resting on his arms.

Long, pale fingers intertwined.

The wrecks of a great ship that surface with the intensity of a storm I did not see.

The roar of thunders I did not hear.

The smell of sea I did not feel.

And fierce waves that did not lash at my skin.

White foam that kept nothing from my perception.

He's all paleness and cold.

But as my eyes travel his body I notice the burst of colour here and there.

The rusty red of drying blood on his silver hair.

The amethyst bruises on his knuckles.

I'd never imagine such a hurt Draco.

"Draco?"

"Weasley."

I reach for him.

Tears fall. His.

I pull him to me.

"I killed him."

"I see."

"No. You don't. I killed _him_."

"Harry."

"Yes. I killed Potter. I killed him."

"I see."

"No. You don't."

And he is right. I probably don't. Because deep down beneath the waters I know. I get this… feeling. A feeling that tells me that I'm supposed to be taking this with a whole different attitude.

That I should not be comforting him.

But it's not something that I can't _not_ do.

So I hold him.

And he soon sobs.

 Hard, hot kisses almost undo our lips.

We kiss as if we're biting.

Desire streams with such fierceness through our veins that our blood hurts.

Everything in me trembles with anticipation. 

With the splendour of a thousand desires.

Despair and fascination mar his beautiful features while he studies my body with his hands and lips.

Like he is hungry and thirsty for infinity.

I worship his body in turn.

I made him up in delirium and now I have him real inside of me.

His desperation is palpable.

It's like he is forgetting to remember.

Trying to die and be reborn in my arms.

Passion mounts and scorches all, enflaming deserted beaches.

And I can't seem to understand it.

Any of it!

How could I have existed without his touch?

Without him the dawn would no longer spin its dress of scattered stars.

The dunes would refuse the winds' caresses.

And perfection reaches such point that when the world explodes into shards of light, a rain of dying embers, I don't even care.

I don't even care that he calls me Harry.


	13. The Truth

Caged 13 

Disclaimer: Duh! They're not mine.

A.N.- Thank you, thank you, thank you! To ALL my reviewers. You guys kept me writing even though I'm the laziest person on the face of the Earth.

This is the end of Caged and it is, of course, dedicated to SnapeJuice, who kept good-naturedly threatening to tickle me with a cattle prod if I didn't keep writing. j/k

I've written a one shot sequel of sorts but I only sent it to SnapeJuice and then smartly erased it from my PC, so, if you want it you'll have to pray that she will send it to me.

*

Dawn breaks in misty greyness upon the manor. Beams of light attempt to pierce the thick humidity of the morning but are deterred halfway through.

Sharp greens shine momentarily against the most subdued ones. Peonies, narcissus, roses. All bow with the heavy weight of dew. All perfectly aligned in a splendour of tasteful colours.

The light moves slowly in the pregnant early morning air, not daring to enter the most obscure recesses of the property but instead choosing to alight the gothic manor.

Despite the early hour I've been standing here for quite awhile. The blue room. My favourite spot in the manor. My only request, though he made it clear that I deserved none.

The war was over by the time I was put in the dungeon but only now that I've left does the notion seem to sink in. 

 The Dark Lord is busy trying to conquer the Americas, now that Europe is all his.

My husband, never having been a Death Eater, does not have to follow him.

My husband, for always being in amicable relations with the Death Eaters, is left in peace with his "family."

Both sides lost so many people. I seem to have lost them all.

Pure bloods became scarce too, for the time being, anyway, so I was, as he said, a logical choice, what with being impregnated with his child and all.

So here I stand, the ocean having swept its truths over me. I'm washed down, chilled to the bone with knowledge and the happy desperation of not caring and realising that I should.

And each night it seems like a magical frontier that brings us together. An infinity of sounds and silences passing between us. Exchanged looks where all remains to be said.

Today I know him like you know someone who cries the same tears as you.

The vague melody of a child's music box. The blue room.

Blue all around me. The sky in the ceiling and the tides on the floor. A waiting crib in the middle and blue all around even though it's going to be a girl.

Still I struggle, a rebel wave in an ocean of deceit and plain truthfulness I was willing to ignore.

_He's looking at me but not looking at me at all. He's looking through me. Searching for something else._

Like the possibility that we were alike in any way. That there was some common ground. That there was something in me that drove Harry to love me and maybe, just maybe, he could possess it too.

Truths just bellow the surface, though at the time they seemed hidden in the ocean's deepest abysses.

I lay a gentle hand over my rounded belly. A tired gesture. Morgana. A fine wizzarding name. I chose it more because of it's sea-related meaning but you agreed immediately. Because it's easier to give up on the small matters when you've killed off the important ones. 

_He is studying me. Trying to find something._

Like, what exactly made ginger, freckled, brown-eyed old me worthy of Harry Potter's love.

At least morning has broken. It's hard to hold back the tears when night comes.

I fell asleep without him by my side. A soulless body. All wounded pride.

But **he** goes on. Always far from my world. Always far from me. He denies it. That I'm acting insane. That he can take Morgana from me soon.

But I know he won't. I may have sold reason but not feelings.

Honey-coloured light comes from our bedroom just next door from the blue room. I ignore it and look at the morning's sky instead, with its piercing blueness and its paper clouds.

_"It's impossible."_

That he could continue to love Harry through me. Because I am the closest he's been to him, apart from the time he killed him. And therefore I'm his love's substitute. But in the moment he holds me in his arms I don't care. It's such a feeling! Like holding a shooting star your prisoner. An egotistical delight. A miracle between flames of passion.

_Disbelieving. Surprised. Disgusted._

That he could transfer his desire to me as long… 

As long as he pretended.

Secrets from the bottom of the ocean that I refuse to see. Lost ships. All of us.

Mermaids wink at me from the walls of the blue room. I open the window and a light breeze plays with the crystal blue mobile.

_"Well, well, it seems little Weasley is not as good as I thought."_

_Hope in his eyes._

That he was somehow like me. That Harry could love, want , need someone like him. Someone "not good."

The night uncovers the pain that covers pleasure. Shadows of moonlight on my fallen angel. Draco.

But there's no day without night and no night without an end.

_You stupid girl! I swear I'll never understand!_

How could the Boy Who Lived have been with me.

_"Where's Potter?"_

_"Maybe he's dead."_

_He looks at me._

_Eyes wide._

With the terror of Harry's death. How can the one who loves go on when the object of their love ceases to exist?

_"Do you really want to save me?"_

And I do. And I tried.

_Tears fall._

_His._

_"I killed him."_

And he was so broken. And so was I because he is everything to me. When he hurts, I hurt.

I don't know if I want to be his saviour anymore. I'm the scent of sand dust. I'm the time that's passed.

From what I could gather they fought. Till death.

From I've heard whispered he told him he loved him.

From what was rumoured Harry asked for me. Died for me.

And Draco blames me for it.

Blue light shimmers across the blue room.

The manor. Just another form of cage.

I'm being summoned for breakfast. Where I'll be lady Malfoy.

I leave the blueness behind me. Along with the scent of sand dust.

THE END


End file.
